Mutiny of The Brain
by KateEals
Summary: After the events of Priority of Life, Jules starts to suffer from PTSD. Greg tries to help her through her trouble.
1. I Know You're Reading Me

**Author's Note:** Hey everyone! So, this is my first excursion into a chaptered Flashpoint fanfic, and essentially, actually "making stuff up" in the Flashpoint world. The idea came to me because I often think when I watch the show, "Man, Jules gets the crap beat out of her on this show. How is she NOT PTSD yet? (well, except for one tiny scene in Perfect Storm)" Whereas I think it's pretty awesome that the writers created a character that is strong enough to not be afflicted with such a malady, I thought it would be interesting to attempt to "make stuff up" about what would happen if she was suffering from PTSD.

I realize panic attacks can be different for everyone, but this is how I've experienced them, so that's how I'm writing them.

I probably don't have to even give this definition because it's so often colloquially used in our modern society, but PTSD stands for Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, which is manifested in panic attacks, hyper-vigilance, and flashbacks triggered by stressful events that may be akin to the precipitating event that caused the affliction.

**Spoilers or references:** Priority of Life, Between Heartbeats, Attention Shoppers, One Wrong Move, Terror, Slow Burn

I don't own or have rights to Flashpoint, The Twilight zone, or anything else that may be copyrighted in this piece.

Mutiny of The Brain

Chapter One: I Know You're Reading Me

The Flashpoint

It was then that it happened.

After the blast, Jules awoke to feel no bodily harm to her physical being. However, this did not negate the fact that a bomb was going off inside her head.

She tried to focus and get her mind back on track, but her brain had violently committed mutiny on her. She saw flashes strike across her mind's eye, while inexplicable feelings of fear, emotional pain, and indescribable panic fought for dominance within the reminiscence of a mind now pounding through her skull.

She looked off into the distance with an a-thousand-yard-stare as she became vaguely aware of Sam's and the rest of her team's pleas for her verbal acknowledgement to their questions of concern. She wanted to respond, so badly, but couldn't, as her mind was held captive to the miss-firing neurons and rouge chemicals coursing through her brain. All she could do was wish for an end to this pain that immobilized her, terrorized her, and made her feel like she was going insane. She prayed for an end to this eternal moment, even if that end could only be born of death.

Three Hours Earlier

The six members of Toronto's Strategic Response Unit Team One sat around their briefing table while their Sargent, Greg Parker, disseminated information to them.

". . . So, that means, no more rappelling down the areas of the building with windows (as I've said before). Aside from the hassle of cleaning said windows, little old Mrs. Fields in Accounting almost had a heart attack during the last little excursion," Greg reported. "We don't need the liability issues of sending civilian personnel to the hospital. . ."

"Or loony-bin. She could have thought it was a ghost or something," Spike interrupted.

Without acknowledging Spike's outburst with a laugh, like the rest of the team, Greg concluded, "That means you, Raf and Jules. . ." He stared at Jules in particular with admonishing parental eyes that were betrayed by the slight up-turn at the corners of his mouth; he actually found the whole episode quite humorous.

"Hey Boss, I was just being corrupted by the wiles of a senior officer," Raf defended with mock contrition.

"What can I say? I'm The Corrupter. It's what I do," Jules responded, playing along with nonchalance. The rest of Team One worked to control their mirth and keep the gag running. . .

. . . They failed miserably, and the room was filled with laughter while Jules held her straight face for effect.

"Right," Greg continued and returned his attention back to the entire group at large. "Next order of business, annual Psy. Evaluations are quickly upon us."

The entire room erupted with moans and a string of "Not Toth!" sentiments.

"No, no, not Toth again," Greg confirmed to everyone's relief.

"You take'n the mantel again Boss?" Ed asked with a hopeful grin, both at the significance such an action would mean towards signifying Greg's return to confidence, and at the thought of what a relatively relaxed atmosphere such an arrangement would engender.

"No, I'm farming them out to the department psychologist this year," Greg replied, than added in response to Ed's resulting frown, "Please Ed. I don't have time to hold your hand through the whole thing." Greg's joke was only slightly mollifying to the group.

The team grumbled a little to themselves until Jules openly expressed her thoughts to the group. "Man, I hate these things. I hate psychology."

"What The," Ed started, confused. "You're a Psy. Profiler!"

"Yeah, but I don't use any of that Psycho-babble, crackpot-mumbo-jumbo and have subjects word-associate to figure their deal," Jules defended.

"Does anyone else feel like we just slipped into the Twilight zone?" Ed replied softly to the room at large.

"Jules, you do realize that not a word that you have said makes any sense, right?" Greg asked his protégée.

"Gee, I don't know Boss. Maybe you should bring a shrink in here to tell me I'm delusional via ink-blots and questions about my 'repressed childhood trauma'!"

"PPFFFffttttt," Spike quipped. "No one uses ink-blots anymore. . ."

Sam and Raf just watched the entire exchange with amusement. There was no better entertainment than Greg, Ed, and Jules getting into a verbal squall with Spike adding 'helpful,' witty commentary throughout the conversation.

"THAT'S IT PEOPLE," Greg ended the scuffle. "We're doing outside psy. evals, and that's final! And don't give me those puppy dog eyes, Spike and Jules, it won't work," Greg warned, turning his head. "It's not working. . ." he persevered.

The rest of the meeting went off without a hitch with intermitted banter and peanut-gallery quips.

"And that concludes the briefing. Yes, that's an hour and fifteen we'll all never have back in our lives," Greg ended as the group chuckled. "So, you've got a choice of target practice with Sam or the obstacle course with Ed. If we have time before shift change or a call, we'll switch-up, sot try to make an even split. Work it out with Team 3; they'll be joining you all."

As the team members rose to branch-off for one of the two exercises, Greg piped up one more time. "Hey Jules, hang back for a second?" he invited.

"Sure Boss, what's up?"

This was a conversation Greg really didn't want to ever have with any of the members of the team under his command. But, he was the patriarch of this family, and he needed to make sure every member of his team was physically and mentally well.

Jules was probably the toughest person he had ever met. He'd seen her beat hundreds of men to earn a spot on Team One, take countless beatings of various sorts, including being shot. He'd watched her fight her way back onto the team after recovering from the gunshot. Nothing, gunshot wounds, jumping-off buildings and slamming into the side of those buildings, watching dear friends get shot or destroyed by landmines, ever kept her down for long. Her armor may have had chinks, but it was still strong.

But after the latest blow to her armor, being trapped in an anthrax filled room while bleeding out from a shrapnel shred wound to an artery in her arm, things seemed to be different. She appeared more cautious in training exercises, seemed to flinch more, especially after hearing loud sounds. The worst was the haunted look she sometimes got in her eyes that she didn't think anyone noticed. But, he noticed, and it broke his hear while filling him with worry. Jules may be the toughest person he's ever known, but even Superman has his weaknesses. He could see the castle walls start to crumble in her and cared about her too much not to say something. Aside from being the irreplaceable heart of the team, she was like a daughter to him, his right hand and personal heart as well. She was the one person in the world, even beyond his own son who had been estranged from him for years, that he couldn't bare to see suffer. He couldn't be the cause of that suffering, like he had been for his ex-wife and long-time estranged son, whether that was by his own leadership decisions, or failure to act when she was struggling.

He feared she was finally being afflicted with the PTSD that was always waiting in the wings to claim her.

He sat down on the edge of the conference table in a nonchalant manner; he wanted to convey to Jules that this wasn't a disciplinary type of situation.

"So, how've you been Jules, how're things with Sam?" Greg started, avoiding the real essences of his desired conversation until she was lulled into a state of calm.

"Pretty good, actually. Ya' know, Toth turned out to be a pretty reasonable guy." She replied this with a hint of acknowledgment that she knew where the Sargent was going. Greg knew this might be a snag; no matter how he modulated his voice or controlled his body language, Jules would be able to read his intent.

"Yeah, I guess good old Larry's not that bad, eh," Greg finished, pointing to the SRU patch on his uniform, signifying how in a round-about way, Toth had lead him back to the confidence he needed to be Team One's Sargent, leader.

"Yeah, glad for that," Jules replied with a genuine smile, not one of the ones Greg had seen so often recently on her face. Too often he'd viewed fake smiles met to placate the people closest to her.

"How've you been, really?" Greg steered the conversation. He knew that Jules knew where this was going, so he figured he mine-as-well jump right in.

"Aww, come on. What is WITH everyone on this team and profiling each other?" Jules now looked indignant.

"By 'everyone on this team' do you mean me and you?" Greg asked with significance shinning in his eyes.

But, before Jules could respond, the alarm was sounded.

"Team One, Hot Call."

"We'll pick this up later," Greg supplied as he and Jules ran to the supply closet to gear-up together.

"Sure Boss," was Jules' only reply.

**Author's Additional Note:** Had to add a few references to Toth. But, man, I could never take that guy seriously, because every time they said his name, my mind flashed to the season 5 episode of Buffy, The Replacement: "Toth" "What?" "It's British slang. He just called you a moron." (Yes, I have entire scenes and episodes of Buffy memorized, so deep is my obsession with that show).

Please leave a review and tell me what you think. I could use some help and encouragement on my first chaptered Flashpoint fic : )

Peace, Love, and Rock 'n Roll, Eals


	2. Not Okay Life's a Masquerade

**Author's Note: **Yo 'Peeps'! Hope you're all doing well! (No more throwing-up, I hope. ; ) ) First off, I'd like to thank everyone who reviewed, favorited, or placed this piece on their alert list; your kind words of encouragement and actions truly humble me and warm my heart. I will certainly try to return the favor with the next installment of this piece. Speaking of which, I actually started writing this chapter after I saw the first 3 reviews to the first. I was sitting there reading them, and Sam and Greg started whispering into my ear. . . "Write me, WRIGHT ME!" It's probably not a good thing when television characters start speaking to you . . . "Does Elvis talk to you, tell you to do things?" (Okay, that's a quote from BtVS The Movie that I just kept hearing after said thoughts). But, Whatev. It's amazing to me how these characters really seem to write themselves as opposed to the characters based on real people from my, as of yet to be completed, novel based on actual events. I wish I would have found this semi-art form of fanfiction sooner!

**Spoilers: **Priority of Life (but, really, if you already read the first chapter, this shouldn't be earth-shattering information. . . seriously. . .)

I don't own or have rights to Flashpoint (or anything that makes money for that matter. . .)

Mutiny of The Brain

Chapter 2: Not Okay; Life's a Masquerade

**In Jules and Spike's SUV**

Things have NOT been 'Okay.'

No matter how many times she spoke those words, no matter how many times she prayed for them to be true, the reality was now, for her, that they were just standard lines to be spoken in the masquerade that had become her life.

Because, that's what life was for her now, a masquerade.

Her costume was not always the same, but those disguises all served the same ultimate purpose: to convey to everyone, whether she knew and loved them or not, that everything was okay, that she was okay, that she wasn't becoming completely unhinged at the seams and losing her connection with reality. Her reality was literally becoming different from the world at large, from the team's, from Greg's, from Sam's. . .

And so she wore the masks every day, continued to traipse along as if the stars were still hanging and shinning in the sky rather than clouding and lighting her brain, keeping her form the clarity she was so notorious for possessing.

She wore the masks to help herself shield her reactions to sudden, splintering, sharp loud noises; instead of completely jumping out of her skin, as she inexplicably felt the need to, she merely flinched like any other 'normal' person startled by a loud occurrence. Her masks covered the fearful flashbacks she actually felt at these moments.

She wore the masks to hide her perpetual, over-whelming feeling of foreboding, the harbinger of a doom she could not even bring herself to imagine.

She wore the masks to shield others' prying views from the visions she so often saw now, visions dancing in-between her reality of perpetual torment and her past of impending death and utter failure, her past that only existed for a mere few hours in the confining space of a chemical laboratory. Her past in a place where a silent killer stalked her, while a loud, obnoxious murderer screamed from her left side.

She even wore a mask at night, when she should be sleeping. She wore it to portray a façade of peaceful slumber, when in reality she was stubbornly fighting her eyelids for fear that if she closed them, it would be for the very last time. Just like when she lay in a pool of her own blood, trapped by technology and her own commitment of ethical ideals. She would have, and almost did, died that day, even for the subject who had precipitated the events of that day, if it would only have prevented the Hell she was living now. . .

And she spoke those lines, those same false words that she had spoken so often that they didn't even hold meaning anymore. "I'm okay," became a mantra of her (poorly) fabricated public self.

But she knew, somehow she knew, especially after Sarge's talk with her a few minutes ago, that she wasn't really fooling anyone. Especially not Sarge and Sam.

Sarge and Sam.

Her teacher and father figure, and the air of life that she breathed.

She could see the pain in their eyes when they caught a glimpse of the inner battle that was ragging in her head through the window of her eyes. This only killed her more, made her personal Hell even more unbearable, for now she was not the only person suffering; she was bringing the people she loved most along for this macabre ride.

XXXXX

The distractions of her inner thoughts were disrupted by Spike who was diligently working next to her while she drove.

"You okay, Jules?" Spike had stopped his research after a quick glance at her dejected face.

"Yeah, I'm fine," _There we go, different word. _She thought._ Maybe it'll have meaning and work this time._

Not buying her words, Spike continued, only trying to draw her out from her abstraction. "Man, Sarge and Sam are pretty quiet on the link."

"Yeah," Jules shot back with sarcasm and without missing a beat. "They're talk'n about me. . ."

**In Greg and Sam's SUV**

"Spike, I need all that you can get me in terms of intel. I want to know what we're getting into here," Greg spoke into his com-link as he drove the SUV containing him and Sam. He had strategically chosen this arrangement, herding Sam towards his car so that he could get Sam alone and perhaps glean some information about Jules from her 'significant other.'

Greg turned off and took out his com-link and motioned for Sam to do the same.

"What's-up, Boss?" Sam asked a little caught off guard. As far as he knew, the team Sargent had no reason to have a completely private conversation with him, void of the voices of their team-mates, about his work performance. Greg's eyes were dark and stern with concern. In the shadow they cast, Sam finally figured out where this conversation was heading.

"What's going on with Jules, Sam?" Greg asked point-blank.

Sam's normal visage of machismo-bravado began to crumble as he searched for the words to answer. "Honestly Boss, I don't know," he ended with a sigh. "Every time I try to ask her what's going on with her, she just says—"

"I'm okay. Yeah, I get that," Greg broke Sam off and returned his sigh. "You know she's not, right? She flinches at every loud sound, never feels like going to The Goose after shift anymore. She has dark circles under her eyes, so she's obviously not sleeping." It pained Greg to verbalize all of his observations, but he continued, "And sometimes Sam? Sometimes I catch a dead, haunted look in her eyes, like she's seeing demons that none of us could ever touch. I gotta tell you Sam, these things are not indicative of someone in a healthy mental state."

"I know, Sarge," Sam responded with pain dripping through his every word and facial expression. "I know she's not sleeping. She puts on a show for me, thinks I believe she's pleasantly slumbering. But, I know she lies there for hours with her eyes wide open. I can't tell you how many times I've woken in the middle of the night to find her side of the bed empty while she's off working on some completely unnecessary home improvement project. I mean, her house is freak'n immaculate already!" Sam's anger and fear were expressed in miss-placed and completely irrelevant pieces of intelligence. "And, when she does finally collapse from utter exhaustion, her sleep is fitful and worthless."

Greg listened to all of Sam's words intently, worry lines on his face increasing with every sentence Sam uttered; those lines impossibly seemed to etch their way permanently on his visage with every passing second.

"And I've seen that look, Boss," Sam continued. If possible in such a professional environment, he seemed to be on the brink of tears. "That deathly stare into nothingness scares the Hell out of me Boss! She doesn't think I see it, or quickly covers it when she sees me watching her, but it's like it's burned its way permanently into my memory." At this point, Sam looked as if he continued this line of the discussion, he would break into a million tiny pieces right before Greg's eyes, even under Greg's fatherly, gentle gaze.

"But, what am I supposed to do, Boss?" Sam changed the lines of the painful conversation, as if changing lanes in heavy traffic. "Whenever I ask, she insists she's okay. It's almost like those words, "I'm okay," don't even mean anything anymore. And it's not like I can tell her I'm worried; no one implies that Jules Callaghan is weak. You can never even go near the insinuation that she's anything less than indestructible." Sam was growing irritated at his own inability to take care of the one person who meant more to him than anyone else in the world.

"It's alright, Sam," Greg comforted, grabbing Sam's shoulder and giving it a reassuring shake. "We'll get through this and get our good old cheerful, indestructible Jules back." He said this as much to steel his own nerves as to steel Sam's.

"But, I don't get it, Boss. The thing at the lab was four months ago. Things have only been getting bad for the last month."

"Sometimes that's how PTSD works, Sam," Greg replied with a sigh and a shake of the head. "Sometimes it even takes years for symptoms to flare-up."

"We gotta get her back, Sarge," Sam pleaded in desperation.

"We will son, we will," Greg reassured, for the first time calling Sam 'son.' His word usage was a direct indication of what Sam had become to him by virtue of his relationship with Jules.

By this conversation, the two men who loved Jules the most, in their own way, formed a pact of resolution to get their girl back to her normal disposition. Their shared, unsaid, mutual agreement to make things truly 'okay' again someday soon, bonded them like never before.

"Boss," Spike's voice could be heard over the radio. The two men in the SUV mentally switched their focus as they replaced their com-links in their ears.

"Go ahead, Spike. Tell me what you've got."

"Not unfamiliar territory, Boss," Spike hesitated. "The subject is terrorizing a research facility . . . full of labs. . ."

Darkness immediately fell across both Sam and Greg's eyes.

**Author's Additional Note: **Wow, enough angst for ya?

And on that note, if you're a Power Rangers fan and you feel the need for some humor after this quite angst-y piece, you should check out my MMPR humor piece, Being Power Punked: A (Failed) Love Story. It's "totally" all fun and games. (I am shame-less for this personal plug. . .). PS: I'd love to take a poll to see how many people started watching Flashpoint because they watched MMPR when they were kids. My guess is, it would be 50% for Americans and a third or more for people around the world. I'm trained to seriously do this statistical analysis. . . perhaps someday I will. . .

**Please **leave a review and let me know what you think of this chapter. I could always use your encouragement and constructive criticism.

As always, Thanks for reading and hope you enjoyed!

Peace-out,

Eals


	3. A Shot to Left Field

**Author's Note: ** Hey everyone! I'd like to start off by thanking everyone who reviewed, favorited, or placed this story on their alerts list. You guys keep me going in my attempt to "make stuff up."

Anyho, I thought we might be to the "flashpoint" at this point, but I realized to do that, I would have to rush things. I don't want to do that, and I'm sure most of you don't want me to either, so, here we are: more angst-y pre-flashpoint stuff.

I'm American, so I don't know if Canadians call this specific agency "Animal Control" or not, but that's what I'm using here, baby(!). (That (!) is a sarcastic exclamation-point).

A **utility player** is an American baseball term for a baseball player who can play most, if not all, positions. It can apply to other sports, i.e., I was kind-of a utility player in distance track in (specifically) college, as although I specialized in the 10,000 meter, I ran the 3000 and 5000 as well, and even ran the anchor leg of the 400 relay on the school D-team once (my Mom was at that race and responded, "I've never seen you run that fast!" Gee, no wonder Ma, I run the 10,000. . .). I digress. . .

**A shot to left field** is a baseball strategy and analogy. If you care to hear what it means, I'll tell you. But, now I'll just tell you to root for the Phillies in American baseball. That's all I have to say, Go Fight'n Phils!

If you haven't read "This Isn't Scooby-Doo," (one of my other stories), you should maybe read it before this chapter. You really don't need to, especially as I view the two stories as coming from different realities, but I wanted to echo the sentiments expressed towards Jules and Greg's relationship in that piece in this current one.

"That's about the it" is intentional poor grammar; it's something I'm quoting from Buffy that I thought one of the characters might say.

See if you can spot any references (specific to AJJ's career).

**Spoilers: **Acceptable Risk

I don't own or have rights to Flashpoint, Loony-Tunes, or anything else that may be copy-righted.

Mutiny of The Brain

Chapter 3: A Shot to Left Field

"They're talk'n about me." The sarcastic set of Jules' face somehow managed to encompass more emotions under the surface: fear, pain, guilt.

Spike smiled, not understanding Jules' witticism, before glancing at the results of his latest web-search.

"Boss," Spike said with foreboding in his voice.

After a few beats, Greg responded. "Go ahead, Spike, tell me what you've got."

"Not unfamiliar territory, Boss." Spike hesitated to continue as he glanced over at Jules with pain and worry shining through his eyes; it was like he was seeing the past and visions of a torturous future simultaneously in his mind's eye.

"The subject is terrorizing a research facility," Spike pushed himself to continue, "Full of labs. . ."

Jules shot Spike a quick look that began as abject terror, but soon flashed to a façade of guile.

A sarcastic "Hhmmphh," was Jules' only response.

Greg finally responded to Spike's intelligence, as if emerging from black-clouded thoughts. "Okay, buddy, that's a little vague. Do we have anything else?" Hope and trepidation were mixed in Greg's words.

"I can help with that, Boss," Winnie filled-in in response to the team's near silence. "The research facility is owned by Zedd Cosmetics. This is their lab facilities where cosmetics are tested on animal subjects. Initial reports from employees who escaped the building say that the subject is Ben Covington, who used to be a lab tech until he had some sort of animal rights conversion. Since he left, they say he's made it his crusade to bring down the company."

_Great_. Greg thought. _Another disgruntled former employee. _

He waited for Jules to make an observation about the subject's possibly abnormal mental situation as evinced by such a stark change from being a lab tech in an animal subjects research lab to being a militant animal rights activist, as she was so astute to, usually immediately read from such information, even before him, but it never came.

"We need to be careful, Team," Greg began to make such a statement himself. "We could be dealing with some serious psychological problems if this guy took a totally 180 on his view-points in such a short period of time." It only amplified Greg's concern that he had to make this observation known to the team himself.

Greg continued the conversation in a different vein, "Winnie, do we have any idea how this guy's armed?"

"So far people have only seen him with a hand-gun," Winnie reported from back at the SRU. "But, a few people have said that he's wearing a back-pack full of supplies of some sort."

"Thanka, Winnie. We're pulling into the lot now. We'll see if we can get some more information from the people who got out," Greg finished. He could already tell this was going to be a tough call, even if the circumstances of the case weren't likely to set-off PTSD symptoms in Jules, as they were here.

Throughout Winnie's entire dissemination of information, Jules' now near constant, inexplicable feelings of impending panic and disaster only started to heighten. She fought with herself to keep these emotions in check so that she could concentrate on the job at hand, not to mention, so that she could continue to keep on her masks and shield others from seeing what she was feeling. It was a hard fight indeed.

Before getting out of the now parked-on-location SUV, Spike reported one more thing to the Sargent and team at large. "Sarge, I've accessed the blue-prints and floor plans of the building. I'm sending them out to everyone's cell phones."

Before Greg could respond, Sam quickly asked, "Do any of the plans say anything about automatic locking safety measures on any of the doors of the labs, Spike?" Consternation oozed through Sam's every word.

"That's a negative, Sam."

_That's a relief_, both Sam and Greg thought simultaneously.

"Thanks Spike," Greg said with double meaning in his words as he walked towards Jules and Spike, now outside their vacated SUV. "Get in the truck and get all you can on this Ben Covington," Greg finished, now turning his attention to Jules. He knew this was not going to be an easy conversation or one that was likely to go his way. It was simply a shot to left field in the bottom of the ninth that he knew may not work at all.

Greg waited for Spike to step into the truck before covering his com-link to speak to Jules. "Looks like we're coming into a tricky situation here, Jules." There was nothing but fatherly concern in his voice when he continued. "Maybe you should stay in the truck with Spike to work the negotiation, and I'll cover you on tactical." Greg knew how to speak to Jules and offered his words as a suggestion, rather than an order, just like any good negotiator. He only prayed that she'd take this 'out' for her own, now fragile, emotional wellbeing.

Jules looked him square in the eye when she answered. "That's alright, Boss. Ed'll probably need my help with tactical. I'll be fine." She said these words as much to reassure herself as to reassure Greg. And, he read that in her eyes.

"Jules," Greg simply pleaded. Ed didn't seem to have the insight into Jules' current psychological state that he did, and he knew Ed, as leader of tactical operations, would likely want her more than him. Aside from being his right hand, and a competent profiler and negotiator in her own right, she was the former second sniper and all-around utility player of the team. With Ed's current knowledge and disposition, his only hope was for Jules to request this arrangement from Ed.

"Boss, remember that conversation we had about me not being a damsel in distress?" Jules responded, referencing the first conversation they'd had after the events that precipitated her current mental state, but well before she started to show symptoms. Her eyes and voice were slightly irritated, but stronger than they'd been in a month. She said no more.

Greg stared back at her straight on, his eyes conveying more knowledge and worry than he had previously let on. Removing his hand from his covered com-link, he simply nodded his head. He had to have faith in her and trust her (lately fleeting) sense of confidence.

Steeling herself, Jules returned his nod and began walking with him to where the rest of the group was congregating.

Ed began to take command of the tactical situation after gathering intelligence from employees who had managed to flee from the heat of the subject's terror. "Okay. So not all of the employees who were on shift today are accounted for. That means we could have possible hostages on our hands. Spike, buddy, can you hack into the surveillance feeds and get us eyes in there?" Ed asked, now in his element.

Spike sighed into his com-link. The rest of Team One could imagine him pursing his lips a shaking his head. "That's a negative, Ed. It looks like the subject tampered with the main power supply. The back-up generators only supply energy to essential functions like lighting and refrigeration. Surveillance cameras are all down," Spike finished with another sigh, and presumably, head shake.

"So, we're going in blind here?" Raf asked the more experienced officers of the team.

"That's about the it, guys," Spike answered.

"Perfect," Sam muttered under his breathe. The true meaning of his near-silent outburst was latent to all but Spike and Greg.

"Copy that, Spike," Ed ignored Sam's side-bar commentary. "Alright people. The facility is too big to try mobile surveillance, so we're gonna work in teams to clear each room in zones." Ed's game-plan was standard procedure for circumstances like this, but Team One's experience with this kind of methodology had not always been successful. All of the team members', save Raf, the newest, slightly flinched in memory of the gory events they had experienced a year ago in a similar type of situation at a museum gala. They all became focused on making this call more successful.

"So," Ed continued in his confident leader mode so familiar to everyone on the team. "Sam, Jules, you guys are Bravo Team. Start from the front entrance, and clear the building moving east.

Jules nodded, wearing a different mask of confidence, while concern immediately lit Sam's face at these words. He didn't think this was the type of situation Jules should be getting into at this point in her psychological state. He looked to Greg, conveying a pleading air of consternation, non-verbally begging Greg to over-ride this command. Greg merely shook his head in denial to the voiceless request.

"Raf, you're with me as Alpha Team," Ed continued, completely oblivious to Sam and Greg's silent conversation. "We'll start from the same point and work our way West. Uniforms'll follow in our wake to escort out any civilians we encounter. Boss, when we find Ben, we'll try to get a mobile communication device to him so that you can try to talk him down. Spike, you have anything more on this guy?" Ed finished.

"Yeah. It looks like he's been trying to get Zedd Cosmetics to end its animal research and free all of the animal subjects."

"What kind of animals are we dealing with here, Spike?" Greg asked, for the first time turning his attention away from fear for Jules. "Do we need to call in Animal Control?"

"Not unless you're worried about tiny fluff-balls invading the city and making women jump-up on chairs like in classic cartoons." Greg smiled. Leave it to Spike to make a Loony-Tunes reference at a time like this. "The only animals Zedd uses as subjects are white mice and some stray-cats," Spike paused, "maybe some flowers."

"Copy that, Spike," Ed responded with a chuckle. He too found Spike's child-like innocence humorous and endearing. "Anything else on the subject?"

"No significant others or affiliation with any radical groups that I can see here, but," Spike paused, slight frustration creeping into his voice. "There's a juvenile record here that's been sealed. I'm working on an expedited court-order to open it. Winnie?" Spike questioned.

"Right here, Spike."

"It looks like his parents and family are in Nova Scotia. Can you see if you can get ahold of them for Boss while I get this juvenile record opened?" Spike asked, delegating duties to get the job done more efficiently.

"Copy that, Spike," was Winnie, the un-sung hero of the SRU's, response.

"Thanks, Winnie," Greg began. "Spike, I'm on my way to the truck."

But, as the tactical team of Team One gathered the equipment they would need to implement the plan, Greg motioned for Sam to speak with him. Again, he turned his link off and motioned for Sam to do the same.

"Yeah, Boss?"

"Watch her, Sam," was Greg's simple order.

The two men exchanged a look that reaffirmed their previously established mutual agreement.

"With my life," Sam said as he turned his link back on and headed to grab his assault rifle.

Before turning into the truck to joint Spike, Greg stole one last look at Jules. She was preparing her gear and having a last minute conversation with Ed on tactics.

It only took him a millisecond to see something was off with her, even after the confidence she had showed him earlier. It was a mere, nearly imperceptible set at the corner of one eye. By this, he knew she was working hard to hide what she was really feeling. He knew Ed and Raf, and possibly even Sam, couldn't see through her efforts. . .

. . . But he could.

It was this knowledge that tore both of the figurative forms of his heart to shreds.

With a nearly imperceptible sigh, Greg turned and completed his journey into the truck. He could only hope that things would not venture into the direction he could foresee then going in his darkest dreams. In that way could only lay tragedy and defeat.

**Author's Additional Note: **Yes, Zedd was the second (and my overall favorite) main evil villain in Power Rangers. I love the name and thought I'd use it here. Ben Covington was the name of the guy in Felicity who dumped Amy Jo Johnson's character for Felicity in the show. The characters remained friends, and even became room-mates, and AJJ and Scott Speedman are still friends, but I thought (in my twisted sense of humor) that it would be funny to use that guy's name for the subject. You'll see why it's so twisted later. . .

And for you dedicated readers, here's a little hint for a future chapter and in the subtext of nearly everything I write for Greg: Greg knows something that even Sam doesn't know that is driving his worry.

**Please** **leave a review and let me know what you think and, or if you think you know what Greg knows. **I'd love to know your constructive criticism, encouragement, and ideas.

Love ya all,

Eals


	4. The World Turned UpSide Down

**Author's Note**: Hey everyone! Hope all is well wherever you are in the world. I'd like to thank all of you lovely people for reviewing, placing on alerts, favoriting, and reading both this story and my others. You Rock like Led Zeppelin!

So, Flashpoint time! Yay. Can I just say how Sam woke me up in the middle of the night a couple of nights ago to make me write his dazed stream of consciousness stuff. I probably shouldn't write right before I go to bed. Fun historical notes: "The World Turned Up-Side Down" was the song that the British troops played during the surrender at York Town, effectively ending hostilities of the American Revolution. Another fun fact: I managed to get the made-up word normalcy (normality is the actual word) in this chapter. The term "Normalcy" was coined by President Warren G. Harding in reference to the return to normality after WWI; apparently he didn't have a dictionary to reference also.

I don't own or have rights to Flashpoint, The Wild Bunch, or Eric Clapton songs.

Mutiny of The Brain

Chapter 4: The World Turned Up-Side Down

Could she really do this?

This was something she had been asking herself since the "Hot Call" signal sounded.

Could she do this?

XXXX

_Can I do this_? Jules thought as she checked her gear one last time. Both stealing seconds to control her nerves, while steeling herself to do her job, her calling. Wrong number?

She began to talk to Ed about inconsequential things, as far as her mental state was concerned.

_"Oh, so we're dealing with a potential mass-murderer. So, excuse the dull explosions going off in my mind, what do you think we can do to dissolve this hopeless situation, in which we have no view of what's actually going on in any of the rooms and are dealing with a subject with a sealed criminal record that we can't know about until we're actually in the aforementioned rooms? Oh, 'facility' full of labs? Huh, NOTHING could go Wrong there (!)._

_ Maybe we'll storm in there, guns-a-blazing, like the Wild Bunch. We'll all die at the hands of some disgruntled former employee; we'll all die, because no one could be there to save anyone else._

_ Blood._

_ We'll all die, because . . . I suck at my job. I can't talk down a poisoned former employee, how can I talk down a (new-to-the-gospel (albeit)) Animal Rights' Activist? He's obviously having a schizophrenic break, such a radicle change in such a short time, but. . ._

_ Blood. Blood. More Bloo—_

"Jules!" Ed interrupted her automatic negative thoughts. "You alright? You went all glassy-eyed on me for a second there."

Ed was completely oblivious.

"Yeah, I'm good, Ed," Jules reapplied her organic facial mask with strong effort. This was getting harder. "We start-off diamond formation 'til we branch off to East and West Wings. Copy."

As she turned from Ed to meet up with her mission partner, Sam, a shutter moved through her as she attempted to brace her mind once more.

Sam's eyes were full of intense disquiet when he met up with Jules. His look of slight burning from the inside, from his core, only worked to deepen Jules' ever growing guilt. Soon her guilt will have dug its way to China. She should learn Mandarin.

Sam placed his hand over his mike, prefacing a last ditch effort to dissuade his other half from pursuing this course of action.

"Jules, sweetheart, -"

"Sam!" She sent him a signature 'shut the Hell-up!' look. Couldn't he see that she was trying her damnedest, tearing her guts-out to just make it through the next minute, the next second, and do her job in a desperate attempt at recovering some semblance of normalcy?

Sam removed his hand from its verbal defensive position and gave her a nod that was at once confident and defeated. Sam's visage had become a self-created rendition of a morbid Ying-Yang.

"Alright, Team. Let's proceed with our diamond entry until the split," Ed's confident voice rang out. It annoyed Sam, Greg, and Jules for numerous, untold reasons.

"Copy," answered three voices with varying emotion.

The team entered Zedd Cosmetics and almost immediately branched off in their separate ways: Ed and Raf as Alpha to the West, Sam and Jules as Bravo to the East.

The hallway was dimly lit by only emergency lighting and the residual sunlight that bended and bounced off surfaces from the front doors. The effect of this lighting was eerily reflective of Jules' internal mental state: dim, insubstantial, on auxiliary, emergency power. Neither could hold out for long.

After Sam and Jules cleared two conference rooms and three office suits, sending a total of five cowering employees back to the trailing uniforms to be evacuated, Spike's voice chimed in their ears.

"Guys." _What was that_, Jules thought at his opening salutation, _Fear?_ "I got the juvenile record unsealed." _Yeah, that would be fear. Must be something in the water._

Greg gulped audibly over the com-link, presumably after he read the file over Spike's shoulder in the truck.

"What you got for us, Spike?" Ed prodded.

"Ben did a stint in juvenile hall."

"Yeah," Raf added, impatient with Spike's slow delivery. "Wha'd he do?"

"Built and set-off a series of bombs in abandoned houses."

There was silence over the com-links for a few beats. Sam and Jules exchanged a momentary shocked and panicked expression.

"Any idea how big these bombs were, Spike?" Ed asked the bomb expert, knowing that the subject broke into the building in full view of security and could only be carrying enough to hold on his person, or in his book-bag.

"Compact, and volatile," Spike continued. "Small enough to fit a few in a back-pack." The team could hear him shake his head. "Be careful guys, these things can go off on contact with the right amount of force."

"Copy that, Spike. Team, proceed with caution." A hint of worry lined Ed's voice.

After Sam and Jules cleared an empty broom closet, Winnie's voice came online.

"Team One, I just got off the phone with the subject's parents. They said that a few months ago he started acting strange, paranoid. He took-off for New York City two months ago, and they haven't heard from him since."

"Thanks, Winnie. Alright, Team, this guy's behavior has been erratic, and he shows signs of having a psychotic break. He's armed and on a crusade. We've got to find this guy soon and try to talk him down," Greg commanded the team, concern leaking into his every word.

Even with these two potentially volatile pieces of information, so far this call had been like any other call of its nature; danger lurked behind every corner, but the members of Team One would not be deterred from keeping the peace. Jules reminded herself of this as she fought to keep her breathing normal with every step she took, literal and metaphorical.

The Bravo Team of Sam and Jules cleared the rest of the hallway they were on before turning a corner and entering a large room eerily reminiscent of the near deadly call of four months prior. Jules took-in a non-voluntary and non-conscious sharp intake of breath. This room was a sterile, white, metallic, state-of-the-art laboratory.

After the door behind Sam and Jules clicked shut, a man fitting the subject's description jumped-out from behind a huge ventilation hood with a female hostage at gun-point. Before either Sam or Jules could verbalize orders for the subject to drop his weapon, he threw a soft-ball sized device in their general direction.

Strike three.

As Sam leapt and pulled Jules out of the way, the world turned up-side down.

**Sam's Dazed POV**

And then he heard it, the beginning of the end.

In this, he could not tell where reality started and he separated, but he knew it was all real. Too real. Too alive. Too here, now, forever shall be. Just. Too.

And the sound resonated through him, his body becoming a vessel of noise, sickly musicality. It was unearthly in its earthliness, unreal in its reality.

And, look into his eyes; look into his father's eyes, like that sub-par Eric Clapton solo song from the 90's.

It was here.

Here.

Now.

Look.

-Disbelieve – But – Believe.

Awake.

**Normal POV**

After the smoke cleared and Sam awoke from his stream of consciousness daze, he propped his head-up to see that the door had become barricaded by debris from the ceiling, fallen as a result of the blast. He turned to see the subject still holding the woman, but that now he had his gun trained on two male hostages that he had not seen until that moment.

Shouts were coming from his com-link: various incarnations of "Sam, Jules . . . are you guys alright?"

"No harm, Boss," Sam replied and looked over at Jules for the first time in the 10 seconds since the explosion that seemed like an eternity. She had not yet responded to their colleagues' pleading voices and was still on the floor.

"Jules? Jules!" Sam begged as, keeping his gun pointed in the direction of Ben, he ran to her side. The last time this had happened, he had viewed her through a veil of smoke lying in a puddle of her own blood. This time there was no blood, but even with her eyes wide-open, she hadn't moved from her place of repose.

"Boss," Sam began in a frantic near whisper. "Debris is barricading the door; Jules appears unharmed, but is unresponsive. The subject's got three hostages, two at gun-point."

"Copy that, Sam," Greg responded, equally as frantic. "We'll send in a rescue team to get started on the barricade. Sam, you got to," Greg paused sounding as if he was on the verge of tears, torn-up inside by his warring personal desires and ethical responsibilities. "You got to leave Jules for now and try to talk Ben down!"

With on last glance at his love, Sam fought back the feelings of his heart and turned his full attention back to the subject.

"Ben? Ben, my name is Sam. I want to help you so that we can all go home safely from this." Sam cringed at the falsehood of his statement. Negotiator's rule #1: Never lie to a subject. He would be damned if he wanted to help the bastard who had Jules lying prone on the ground.

"Ben, talk to me."

"You want to talk?" The subject sounded crazed, unstable. "Let's talk about injustice! Let's talk about Zedd destroying the world! They start with animals! Soon it'll be the world!"

"Boss, this guy is seriously unstable. I don't know if I can talk him down."

"Keep working it, Sam. Try to connect." Greg's words sounded hopeless even to himself.

"Come on Be—"

"Jules," Greg started on another tactic, ignoring Sam's abysmal negotiating. "Jules, kid, you gotta come back to us here. Sam needs your help. Come-on and wake-up." Greg knew that she was awake, but trapped by debilitating panic. It was bound to happen. He tried to use his words to lull her back to reality.

"EMS heading towards the blast site," Spike supplied helplessly.

"Alpha Team almost to Bravo's location," Ed informed.

"Jules,' Greg continued.

"Ben—"

"Shut-up, shut-up! Lies, lies! Zedd's probably brain-washed you too!" the subject raved, raising his gun back to the woman's head.

"Come on Jules!" Greg was begging.

"Subject's escalating." Sam was losing confidence. "Sarge, subject escalating! I can't talk him down! Jules, damn-it! I need you!"

"What the Hell is going on with you guys?" Ed was still oblivious.

Sam and Sarge were breaking too.

"Escalating, Damn-it Jules!"

"Sam, you have Scorpio." Greg was defeated.

"Jules." But, one last try.

"Gun down now, Ben!"

"Sam?" came a meek female voice. . .

"You all must DIE, MINIONS!"

-Cocked gun.

-Gun-shot

-Subject falls, splatter on the female hostage's face and lapels.

"Subject down. Get us the Hell out of here."

Calm.

Silence.

Defeat.

**Author's Additional Note**: Yeah, Sam killed Ben. That actually makes me chuckle in a somewhat disconcerting, evil way. Also, Ben thought Zedd was trying to destroy the world. Hee, hee.

I don't have much knowledge of bombs, so I hope none of that stuff sounded too far-fetched.

**Please leave a review and let me know what you think.** This chapter was a little different and avant garde, so I'd love to have any constructive criticism or encouragement.

Thanks for reading and take care,

Eals-of-all-trades-except-bombs-types-of-grass-and-farm-animals


	5. I'm at the Break, So Baby, Pass the Wine

**Author's Note: **Hey guys! So, thanks to everyone who has been reading and reviewing this story. Your kind thoughts and encouragement keep me going, although, I kind-of got the impression that people didn't really like the whole artsy-fartsy last chapter. Oh well, Back to straight Angst! As I told Sules, this is the "Everyone is depressed, and blames themselves, so, let's all cry in our beer and listen to Jewel songs that make us want to slit our wrist" chapter. It's angst-y. I actually titled it after a line in AJJ's "Dancing In-Between," because everyone uses "Dancing In-Between" as a chapter title, but not just one line.

Anyho, hope you don't think this chapter took too long to get out (Sules! Dude, I posted the last one on Thursday. What do ya want? : ) ). Sules and I were too busy cracking ourselves up with Nateve. Seriously (Plug here), if you get the chance, check out chapter 3 of Nateve, which I wrote, even if you're not a Steve-Nat fan. It's not really a Steve-Nat chapter, except for the last line. It's mostly irreverent and awkwardly hilarious Nat, Steve, and JAM moments!

I don't own or have rights to Flashpoint, Amy Jo Johnson songs, or Get Smart

Mutiny of The Brain

Chapter 5: I'm at the Break, So Baby, Pass the Wine

**Sam's POV**

The room was silent.

After awakening from an apparent haze, Jules just sat across from him and the three unharmed, but in shock, hostages. They all sat well away from where Ben Covington's lifeless body lay in the dregs of his lifeless blood.

Jules didn't even look at him, seemingly trapped in her own intense thoughts. And Sam was ashamed, ashamed because he couldn't bring himself to look at her either.

He knew she was probably experiencing some unknown circle of Hell right now, but he couldn't help but feel, even though she was obviously going through the worst experience of her life, that she had failed him in not being able to awake from her waking slumber to help him, do her job, Damn-it, and negotiate their way out of it. So, he was ashamed.

But, he was even more ashamed, because this whole situation was basically all his fault. Jules shouldn't have been in a situation like this to begin with, no matter how 'okay' she always claimed to be. He should have put his foot down. He should have worn the pants in this relationship, FOR ONCE, and made her step away. He should have told her that disaster could happen, again, and that he didn't think she could handle that. He knew he couldn't.

Sam was awoken from his self-loathing reverie by Sarge's voice on the com-link.

"Guys, stand well clear of the barricaded area. We're about to move the debris, and we're not sure if we might disrupt some structural damage when we do it."

"Copy, Boss," was Sam's only reply. Jules remained silent. He didn't even have the guts to look at her to see if Sarge's voice even roused her.

Five endless minutes later, the group of firemen working on the mess of debris had broken through. Sarge was the first one in the lab. He walked straight to Jules, not even pausing when he took the com-link out of his ear. They had a, what appeared to be a largely one sided, conversation that was silent to Sam. Sarge's hand rested on her shoulder the whole time.

Then, Sarge raised his voice so both could hear him.

"Sam, obviously you have to go to an SIU interview. But, before you go, you BOTH need to get checked-out by EMS." Jules looked like she was on the verge of protesting, purely out of pre-programmed habit, when Sarge continued, "No arguments. That was a big blast. We gotta make sure you're all alright." There was a strong emphasis on the word 'all.' It was like he was referring to both mental and physical manifestations of the term, rather than a reference to everyone being physically well.

Sam's mind flashed to the idea of being examined by an EMT. He hoped TO GOD that EMT was NOT Steve. He couldn't deal with having to face Jules' perfect ex-boyfriend. Not after he had failed her so egregiously. His shame would be compounded by guilt with one look from the handsome EMT's eyes. She probably would have been better off with that sensitive bleeding heart. Would have been better off, because, deep down, Sam felt like Steve was the better man. Why Jules chose himself over Steve, to her own detriment, Sam would never know.

After handing his death-tainted assault rifle to an SIU officer, he was led to a secluded place where he would be checked by an EMT without being influenced by anyone on his team. Before he turned the corner to his solitary place of examination, he stole his first glance at Jules in an hour.

The look on her face told him everything.

He had every reason to be ashamed.

**Greg's POV**

Why does he keep doing this?

Why does he keep failing her?

When will he ever be the sort of leader who would never cause the detriment of all of the members of his team?

Why the Hell was it taking so damn long?

Sam, Jules, and the hostages had been trapped in the lab with the body formerly known as Ben Covington for over half-an hour. He knew the hostages were probably in different states of shock, knew that Sam was probably berating himself for not being able to talk the subject down. And Jules.

Jules.

He couldn't imagine the Hell she was going through, the Hell she was putting herself through. All because of him. Again. All because he didn't take a stand as THE BOSS and order her to not go on this call, order her to talk to him, order her to admit that she was suffering from PTSD. That's all it would have taken. One order in any direction, and this catastrophe could have been avoided.

Whatever she was thinking, feeling, he knew she blamed herself for events playing out the way they did. He knew, because he knew she always carried the weight of the world on her shoulders. But, before Xavier and his pursuit of rogue justice, before Greg's own poor leadership decisions, she was an Atlas who could handle it. It was a balancing act that she was always able to withstand. Before. Not now.

All he wanted to do was wrap his arms around her in a fatherly embrace. Whisper in her tiny ear that everything would be okay, that he was here for her. That he would finally do the job of protecting her, both mentally and physically, that he hadn't done to this point yet. He wanted to be the patriarch, the man that she, and the rest of Team One, but mostly she, needed him to be.

"Sargent Parker." His self-loathing reverie was interrupted by one of the firemen working on removing the debris. He looked up in silent acknowledgement. "We're ready to start moving the debris. Please warn your team members."

Greg nodded. At least he could protect them, her, from that.

"Guys," he didn't wait for their reply and soldered on. "Stand well clear of the barricaded area. We're about to move the debris, and we're not sure if we might disrupt some structural damage when we do it."

"Copy, Boss," was Sam's reply. Jules said nothing. Greg wondered if his words even stirred her from whatever automatic negative thoughts she was having.

Five minutes later, he was given the all clear to enter the room. Sam could wait; his first concern was Jules.

In one swift motion, he walked to her, pulled-out his com-link and placed a comforting hand on Jules' shoulder. An enormous wave of relief flowed through him when she returned his intense stare.

The calm was fleeting. The lifeless, defeated look in her eyes chilled him to the bone. He had never seen her warm brown eyes so devoid of emotion. He renewed his vow to never let that happen to her again.

"Jules, you with me?" He didn't know what else to say. The tangible feel of her shoulder in his hand was not comfort enough to him. He needed to know that he was talking to at least some semblance of the person he knew and loved like his own child.

A simple, cold nod was her only response.

"You know where you are, you know what's going on?" He couldn't believe he had to ask her these questions, establish her cognitive state. He knew she probably felt degraded by this evaluation, but her only response was to nod once again.

This killed him even more. The Jules he knew wouldn't take such a question without a strong measure of snark. The Jules he knew would have feed his psychology right back at him, profiler for profiler, engaging in an intellectual, friendly verbal sparring match. The Jules he knew would not take it with a nod.

This was breaking him. He wanted to yell at this Jules imposter to let the real Jules free, but he knew that His Girl Friday was still in that vessel somewhere. He couldn't let the maladaptive chemicals in her brain win-out.

"Jules, please, you got to talk to me." Greg was now negotiating with her, and he knew it. This conversation had degenerated into some philosophical thought experiment: Who negotiates the negotiator?

"I'm okay, Boss." The cone of silence was broken by her standard, now meaningless statement of falsehood. "I'm here." It sounded more like she was trying to convince herself of this fact than convince him.

"Okay, listen Jules." Greg couldn't deal with everything here. He would have to defer this conversation to a later time. "You're gonna go get checked out by EMS, than we're gonna head back to the barn. Get changed out of that debris ridden uniform, and we'll have a debrief. It can just be you and me. The guys don't have to be there." He would protect her in any way he could from here on out. Even in this simple manner.

"Copy," was her nearly non-verbal reply.

Greg raised his voice to address Sam as well, but his thoughts were still on his protégée. He had to help her through this. Had to get back the loved one whom he had let go so far astray.

**Jules' POV**

And then, there was silence.

The bomb had stopped exploding.

But, her brain continued to commit mutiny on her. . .

She fought the haze, the panic, the lightning strikes inexplicably igniting in her mind. She had emerged. She fought the haze, and won, but still failed.

She Failed. Again.

She was the negotiator. It was her job to negotiate. Hence the name.

She shouldn't have to be negotiating her own mind through the mental mind-field of a panic attack. She should be able to do her job. Her Damn Job!

It was obvious now. She couldn't do her job. And, in the course of not doing her job, she was putting people at risk, getting people killed

Today, it was a subject. While she was fighting to not drown in a sea of panic, a delusional man, who she had a strange connection with, was teetering on the edge of the precipice of disaster.

She could have talked him down. Talked him out of his mentally unstable conception of reality. But, she couldn't. Not when reality was breaking for her too.

And so, she couldn't do her job today. As a result, a man had died. A man who was a slave, through no fault of his own, to a psychotic break, died.

But, what could have happened? One psychotic victim was a casualty, but it could have been more. One, two, all three hostages. . . Sam.

Sam.

She could have gotten Sam killed.

She already knew what she was doing to him by exposing him to her mental malady, but she simply could not live with being the cause of any bodily harm to him.

She was maiming him mentally, and that had to end, but she could never maim him physically. She couldn't be the cause of maiming ANYONE physically. Well, not any more, at least.

Her self-loathing reverie was interrupted by Sarge over the com-link saying something about dangers of debris. . .

Sarge.

She could get him killed too.

What was she already doing to him. . .

Suddenly, to her mind, a section of the fallen mess was removed enough to permit entry.

Someone walked towards her, placed a strong, stabilizing, comforting hand on her shoulder. She looked-up. Speak of the devil, it was Sarge.

Oh God, his eyes, what was she doing to him?

He wasn't scolding her like he should, scolding her for not doing her damn job. He was gently inquiring about. . . something. She just nodded. She would have to work diligently at focusing on what he was saying now.

"You know where you are, know what's going on?" Oh Lord. Was he really doing this? Did he really think she was THAT far gone? WAS she THAT far gone? Was he really establishing her cognitive state as if she had just been admitted to a mental hospital?

Mental Hospital.

Time.

Time was funny.

Wasn't Spike just joking about having to send someone to a Loony-bin?

Was that hours or Days ago now?

_Damn-it, Jules, focus!_

She needed to answer his question. Normally, she would have shot some sarcastic, psycho-babble retort right back at him for even dreaming of asking her such an asinine question. But, he was right this time. She was screwed-up. So, she just. . . nodded in reply.

The answering defeated look on his face made her want to dig that hole to China and hid-away in a foreign land forever. She was killing him mentally already. She would never risk killing him physically through her negligence.

"Jules, please, you got to talk to me," Sarge pleaded.

He's right. It's her responsibility to take care of him, Sam, the rest of the team, the public. That always came through talking for her.

She needed to reassure him. At least for now. At least while she's still here.

"I'm okay, Boss. I'm here."

He CLEARLY didn't believe it.

But, he wasn't going to continue this now. Not in the room occupied by the lifeless proof of her negligence. He would save it for later.

He said they'd debrief, alone if she wants, Sarge ever her protector, after she changed out of her now ruined uniform.

It would be for the last time.

She would get checked by an EMT, go back to the barn, change out of her uniform, but she would not have that debriefing with Sarge.

She would simply leave her badge and her gun in the locker room and leave. She would leave and go somewhere where she could never hurt the people she loved, in any capacity, ever again.

**Author's additional note: **Generic, DUN, dun, DUUUNN. Yes, GERRRRRrrr, I hate doing these horrible things to my Favorite Character! But, what do you think will happen next?

**Please leave a review**, **and let me know what I did right or wrong**. I just need your input. Also, let me know if you have any predictions about what is going to happen.

**Fun Fact** ('cause I didn't have one for this chapter): The movie **Fight Club** takes place in Wilmington, Delaware (USA). I'll tell you about Dead Poet's Society at another time


	6. Coffee Talk

**Author's Note**: Hola fellow Flashpoint Fanatics! Thanks to everyone who has been reading, reviewing and adding this story to alerts and favorites. You really make a writer's day. So, I have to say, this may be my favorite chapter so far, because it's mostly a flashback where Jules can be witty and heroic again. Yay! It really is hard to put one of my all-time favorite characters through Hell, so this chapter was a fun relief. Oh, and I seriously considered calling this "Breakfast at Timothy's," but that just wouldn't fit the time; darn me placing the scene at night and inadvertently foiling my own wit! I've got to say, I'm pretty sure I went to a Tim Horton's in Minnesota once, and it was pretty awesome. (Minnesota is the Canada of America, by the way. Just say'n, people are uber nice there and jovially blissful about how freak'n cold it gets, not to mention how sweet their accents are. . .). Wish we had those in the mid-Atlantic, but hey, we have Wawa, so, it's all good. Quick, look under the chair! You might find the point I'm trying to make!

I don't own or have rights to Flashpoint, Tim Horton's, or the New York Times.

Mutiny of The Brain

Chapter 6: Coffee Talk

While Jules changed out of her uniform, Greg briefly debriefed the rest of Team One, sans Sam, on the events of the call. Considering the majority of the action had taken place with the Bravo Team of Sam and Jules, there wasn't much to discuss. Greg liked it that way; his mind was still on helping Jules.

After Greg dismissed the team, Ed slowly approached him.

"What were we into in there today, Greg?" Ed asked. Greg knew exactly what this cryptic question meant.

"Not now, Eddie." Greg had no time to fill his friend in on circumstances he was somehow, still completely oblivious to. There was a reason why Ed was the tactical, and Greg and Jules were the talk.

"Greg, if you know what's going on, I think you owe it to me to fill me in."

Greg accepted his right to remain silent.

"What's going on with Jules, Greg?" Ed continued.

_Gee, ya finally figured out something was amiss, Eddie, _Greg though somewhat inexplicably irritated.

Taking a deep breath, Greg decided that letting Ed in on things may actually be to his advantage.

"She needs my help, Eddie. She's gonna need all of us to help her."

"PTSD?" was Ed's response. He was slowly, but surely, reaching enlightenment.

Greg's only reply was a meaningful nod.

"Let me know what I can do." Although he sometimes assumed the role of annoying, teasing big brother, Ed cared about Jules almost as much as Greg. And, although his faith had wavered when he considered keeping Donna over her, Ed realized that Jules was the heart of the team, an asset it couldn't function properly without. He would do all he could to help his surrogate little sister.

"Thanks, Eddie," Greg smiled. "But right now, all you can do is leave me alone so I can go talk to her."

Catching the hint, Ed nodded and patted Greg on the shoulder. "I'm only a phone call away."

Greg smiled at the retreating form of Ed. This team truly did function as a family. Everyone would work their hardest to fix a team-mate's broken wing.

Jules always did for him.

He thought back to barely five months ago when he was suffering through his own personal dull drums, just before the anthrax incident. Doubting his leadership capabilities and seriously considering hitting the bottle again, Jules had come through for him like no one else could.

It was after a tough call where Greg himself had been taken hostage. Dangled over a ledge by a disgruntled former cop, the only way he could save himself was to reveal all of the terrible leadership decisions he had made lately. He had indeed saved himself, but failed to stop the delusional subject from falling to his own doom.

Later that night, at home, wallowing in his own grief, he was surprised to hear a knock on his door. He had told Marina not to come over that night and felt a little disgruntled when he opened his door.

His discontent soon faded when he opened the door to reveal Jules in civvies, smiling while she lifted-up a cardboard carrier filled with two Tim Horton's coffees.

"Thought you could use a double-double tonight."

Greg smiled in spite of himself as he realized Jules was here to make sure he substituted coffee and talk for bourbon and rumination.

He simply stood aside to let her in.

"Not spending the night with Sam?" Greg toyed with her as they sat down on the couch together.

"Nahh. The boy can handle one night of bonding with his sister without me. Today is a Sarge day," she smiled, lifting-up her coffee in a symbol of cheers.

They were companionably silent for a few moments. Quiet was never awkward with him and Jules.

Jules stared at him with deep interest, reading his every thought from the manner in which he held his face as if she was perusing the New York Times.

"Scary stuff today, eh?" Jules finally broke the silence that was only filled with the scent of coffee.

Greg had no response to offer.

"You know you did good, right? Talked bullets back up the barrel like no one else could." This last sentence was a self-referential reprise of a tough love talk she had once had with him after he had risked his own life rather than upset the feelings of a teenage girl. He never wanted to be berated like that again.

She knew he was hurting from the Pandora's Box of emotions his confessions of the day had unleashed. "Ya know, you're not infallible. You're not supposed to be. None of us are."

Her words were simple, direct, and hit close to home.

"We don't out'n out lie when we negotiate, but we often do offer some fibs," she continued, revealing the negotiators' darkest secret. "And what we say in the heat of the moment doesn't define who we are. Negotiation or not. Just say'n, that's just the truth."

"You don't have to give me a peep-talk, Jules," Greg finally joined the conversation. "I'm a big boy, I can handle myself." Even he knew this was a falsehood. Without his team, without HER, he would be nothing.

"Yeah, but even big boys need a boost every now and then. I'm just make'n sure you don't handle yourself to a big boy bottle." Jules' metaphor was blunt and necessary.

She took a sip of coffee to give time for her words to sink in. "You're not perfect, Boss, and none of us care. Your humanity is what makes you a great man."

Jules thought he was a great man.

Somehow, hearing those words from her was a tonic to his soul like nothing else. Even more than the fact that he knew she genuinely meant them (Jules was an unabashed low self-monitor who could often care less what people thought about her blunt and often sarcastic commentary), he respected her evaluations of character more than anyone else's.

And with those words, she had raised him up from his self-imposed prison of misery. She alone had the power to reach him in the sea of his own darkness.

"Thanks, Jules," Greg smiled.

She returned his smile with one of her own, compounded by the interest of relief.

Mission accomplished.

"A'right, Sarge, I better get go'n," she said rising, her objective now reached. "The Braddock siblings are probably in the midst of a battle royal for the remote." She chuckled to herself, no doubt remembering one such prior incident to which she had been a witness. "No joke, Boss. Things can get pretty hairy between those two."

He walked her to the door.

"Thanks, Jules," he repeated.

"See ya at work tomorrow, Boss. Sure to be another pleasant valley Sunday in status symbol land," she said, quoting The Monkeys.

Greg chuckled. _Where does she COME UP with these things?_ He marveled at her wit.

Before stepping across the threshold and into the hallway, she paused, turned, and lifted up on her tip-toes to give him a huge hug. This, even more than her words, filled Greg's heart with a warmth that the coldness of his demons could never overpower.

She had always been there for him.

Smiling at the thought of this memory, Greg stopped in front of the women's locker-room door.

"Jules," he called and knocked at once.

No answer.

With a sense of foreboding, Greg hesitantly walked into the room.

It was empty, save for Jules' badge and gun sitting forlornly on the locker-room bench.

**Author's Additional Note**: Welp. Here we are. Back to depressed Jules. Darn-it!

**Please leave a review** to let me know what you think of this chapter. Don't you just love the Greg-Jules relationship? One of these days I'm gonna work in the whole Jules being Greg's "work wife" dynamic, but it just doesn't fit right now.

Thanks for reading,

Eals : )


	7. The Beginning of the End of the Mutin

**Author's Note: **So, here we are. The end of the road. I'd like to thank everyone who has been faithfully reading and reviewing this story. You guys have truly been great! I'm gonna shut my big mouth now and save my comments for the after-note, so that I don't give anything away.

**Spoilers (well, besides the one's I've already had)**: Planets Align (Which, BTW, happened last week, so I totally watched that episode on youtube in honor of it).

I don't own or have rights to Flashpoint or Jeep, although my family owned a Jeep Grand Cherokee for like 10 years or something. . .

Mutiny of The Brain

Chapter 7: The Beginning of the End of the Mutiny

Seeing the tangible symbols of Jules' life in the SRU sitting lifelessly on the bench, Greg raced out of the locker room and back to the briefing room. He glanced out the window at the parking lot.

No sign of Jules.

Her Jeep was missing.

A man on a mission, he raced by Winnie at the reception desk towards his SRU SUV.

"Sarge, what the. . ."

Winnie could wait.

His own car could wait.

He jumped into his SRU vehicle, which was stocked with all of the tools of the trade he might need: Radios, com links, support cables.

_She left her gun._ He thought. _At least she left her gun._ Greg tried to comfort himself as he began to drive daringly into the night.

_ But, she's an SRU officers, damn-it. She has access to OTHER guns!_

He wasn't exactly sure where he should go, but he was going to try the first place that came to his mind.

_Maybe she just quit. Maybe she just cut-out early to go home._

He drove towards Jules' residential neighborhood.

Greg's fear and concern had been teetering on the brink of disaster all day, maybe all month. But now, he had to face the possibility that his fears might actually be realized.

He needed to make some calls, just in case.

Knowing he wouldn't be out of his SIU meeting yet, Greg called Sam's cell to leave a message.

"The number you have reached, _Sam Braddock_, is not available. Please leave your name, number, and message after the tone. . . _BEEEEP_."

"Sam, it's Greg, Sarge. Listen, I don't want you to worry or anything, but Jules left the barn before we could debrief." Greg paused, willing himself to continue without revealing too much that may only frighten Sam and ultimately become moot. "She left her badge and gun. I'm worried about her; think she may have quit when she could really use us right now." Another pause. _Cool your nerves, Greg_. "Just, give me a call when you get this." He clicked the message off.

_Who else might Jules have contacted, _he thought.

He quickly returned to his cell phone's menu and dialed another number he had saved.

"Hello?" The person wasn't exactly sure who he was talking to.

"Hi, Steve. This is Greg Parker."

Greg had programed Steve's number, given to him by Jules, into his phone after the last time Steve had helped Team One. It was a bomb situation in a down-town office building where Steve, wanting to go down into the thick of a very risky situation, but denied access, had coached Sam through emergency field first aid on a trapped victim.

Both Sam and Steve had been instrumental in saving the woman's life that day, and both Greg and Jules had known it. It was her thankful, friendly praise of Steve and loving concern for the safety of Sam that had heightened Greg's suspicions about Sam and Jules' potentially renewed relationship.

He had literally frowned upon it then, but would have encouraged it whole-heartedly if it would have prevented the position they were in now.

"Oh, hello Sargent Parker. What can I do for you? Oh, I heard on the radio that Team One was involved in a situation that required EMS today. Is everyone alright?"

Steve was a good guy, and still a good friend of Jules'. Him and Sam both. She really did know how to pick 'em. Greg hoped he himself was still among the great men of her life.

"Yeah, Steve. Everyone came out pretty much unscathed." His 'pretty much' was an obvious negotiator's fib.

"Listen, I'm try'n to find Jules. Some pretty heavy stuff went down today, and I just want to make sure she's okay." Greg braked his SUV violently, so intent on his mission objected that he had nearly run a red light. "Have you heard from her?"

"No, Sarge." Steve still addressed him by the name that Jules had introduced him as. "I actually haven't heard from her in a little over a month when we went shopping together. I was actually a little worried about her. She was so jumpy last time." Steve paused. "Is everything okay, Sargent Parker?" Should I be worried about my friend?" Concern filled Steve's voice.

_The man goes shopping with her in place of a girlfriend. Wow, Jules really DOES know how to pick 'em._

"It's alright, Steve," Greg comforted the paramedic, and himself. "She just cut-out early on me. We were supposed to debrief, but she just left early. I was hopping maybe she contacted a friend to meet-up with."

Greg was about to continue, when—

"Sarge. Does Jules have PTSD?"

Steve's blunt question struck right at the Sargent's heart. Jules' high school friend and current shopping buddy had seen exactly what he, Sam, and the rest of the team hadn't until it was nearly too late.

Or maybe, what they were trying not to see for its implications towards a non-Superman Jules.

"Yeah, Steve," Greg sighed. "Yeah, I'm afraid so."

"How bad is it?" Steve was now in professional helping mode.

"I'm not gonna lie to you, Steve." Greg kept using everyone's first name with nearly every sentence. It was like he was in a negotiation mind set where he needed to establish a link of familiarity between himself and the subject. He just wasn't sure if he himself was the negotiator, or the subject.

"Things have gotten pretty bad." Greg paused, momentarily at a loss for words. He couldn't believe he had to verbalize these statements, about JULES of all people, out loud. "I think she's gonna need all of our help right now."

"Anything I can do, I'm there," was Steve's simple response.

"Keep your phone on you. Be at the ready if I need to give you a call."

**With Jules**

_Cloths, money, that's all I need_, thought Jules as she pulled-up to her house's drive-way.

She didn't have much time. Even though she changed out of her uniform at the speed of light and chose to forgo a shower, she wasted time waiting for a moment to slip around Winnie without her knowing. Sarge was probably already aware that she was missing. She only had time to pack one bag.

She didn't need to worry about Sam. He would be at the SIU interview for at least another hour or two.

And, he didn't need to worry about her anymore. She would leave him to be free to see people who weren't as irrevocably damaged and defeated as she was. She would leave him to be with someone he deserved. Someone whole.

Jeans, t-shirts. She'd have to cash-out her debit account at the nearest ATM. No sense in leaving a money trail.

Jeans. Genes.

She wondered if her pathetic-ness was genetic. She wondered, feared, how much her life would be dictated by those genetics.

She zipped-up her old U of Alberta gymnastics duffle bag and trotted down the stairs. Would she ever see this house, which she renovated with her own sweat, blood, and tears, ever again?

She locked the door. Sam had a key. He could let himself in. She wouldn't.

Just as she locked her door and began to approach her waiting Jeep, a black SUV pulled-up behind it, effectively blocking any escape. A man popped out.

Sarge.

He approached her with not reproach or anger on his face, but a look of paternal, admonishing smiles.

"Juliana Callaghan, I believe we had a date for a debrief," he said simply.

"Only way you can 'debrief' me is if I still work for you," was Jules' semi-sarcastic reply. Sarge had certainly heard better wit from her. He was probably disappointed in her response.

"Yeah, I found your badge." Sarge paused as he approached within three feet of her and her forlorn, half-filled duffel bag. "But, I do not accept your resignation." It sounded like there was double meaning in his words.

"You don't have to. I don't do my job, I don't show-up for work, I get fired," Jules attempted to put fire in her eyes with these words, but she just didn't have the energy, emotion.

"I don't accept that," Greg responded, only care in his voice. "And, I don't accept that you're leaving us like this. You know you can't go."

Jules couldn't believe that Greg actually cared enough about her, after what she had done to him lately, after how much she had failed him today, to come here and try to convince her to stay.

"Why do you care? Why are you even here now?" Her questions were sincere, and Jules' facial expression and words were the most defeated things Greg had ever seen or heard in his life. He never thought he'd see or hear them from her. The greater they are, the harder they fall.

Greg was slightly angry in his response.

"Because, I watch over you, Jules. All the time. When you were unconscious in the hospital after being shot, I watched over you. When Ed wanted to keep Donna over you, I watched over you." His anger turned to pride. "Because, anyone can shoot a subject, but damn-it Jules, you're a hero!"

The surprised look on her face from his prideful smile caused him to pause before continuing his monologue.

"When you were torn-up from ME making you break-up with Sam, whom you are perfect for and can never leave, by the way, I watched over you." He paused once more before adding the last, most painful piece of information in his argument. "And when you were dying of blood-loss in that lab, I watched over you, and it was the hardest thing I've ever done." His eyes were pleading with her now. "Because, I couldn't do anything to help you." There was strength in his voice for his last words. "But, I can now, Jules. I can help you now. I watch over you, Jules. It's my job."

Jules was silent, absorbing his words.

These words ultimately hadn't changed anything for her.

"It doesn't have to be your job anymore, Sarge," she began in the same low, defeated tone. "I can't help anymore. Can't do my job anymore." Tears began to edge the corners of her eyes, fighting their hardest not to fall. "I can't do my job anymore, and I'm hurt'n people if I stay."

Greg's anger and will to fight returned.

"Damn-it Jules, this isn't about your job! I don't care if you never profile or negotiate again! This is about YOU!"

"What are you talking about, Sarge?" she asked forlornly, but a look of knowing rose to her face.

"Your mother," was Greg's simple reply.

These were the words which set the world on fire. But, the fire raged silently in the late summer's night.

When Jules didn't answer his revelatory words, Greg continued. "I know why your father raised you. Why you didn't grow-up with a mom." He paused, allowing the tears that were building in his own eyes to fall. "And it can be hereditary. Jules, I'm afraid, I'm TERRIFIED, that you," he struggled to continue," that you might kill yourself too. . ."

This was the intelligence of which he was the only member of the team privy to. This was the fear that drove him to action.

The tears, so long held-off, now fell from Jules' sleepless eyes. The reality was, sometimes, she was terrified too.

"You think I'm that weak?" Her words came in a near whisper. "You think I'm that imperfect?"

"No, Jules," Greg replied in a soft tone of fatherly love. "I think you're that Perfect."

Silence lit the night once more until Greg continued. "You once told me that not being perfect and being human were your two biggest fears," Greg uttered, referring to a time after Jules had successful talked down a shot-gun wielding, Stockholm Syndrome afflicted teenage girl, helping her to re-unite with her family and return to the innocence of a girl she once was.

"You also once told me that my humanity is what makes me a great man." Greg stepped forward to hold her small face between his two big hands. "If humanity makes me great, it makes you even greater," he said softly. "You're a gift to me and the world no matter how lost you become, and I'll always be here for you. Please," he began once more. "Let me help you find your way back."

At these words, Jules fell into Greg's arms in a strong embrace, not an awkward hug like they sometimes shared.

This was the beginning of the end of the mutiny.

"Help me, Sarge," she cried into his shoulder. "Help me find my why back."

**The End, Which is Truly, Only a Beginning **

**Author's Additional Note: **So, that was all she wrote. So the story goes. Oh God, I just quoted a country song. . . Okay, so I realize some of you may feel unfulfilled with the ending of this story, but really, my modus operandi was to get Jules to the point where she would realize she needed help and to ask for it from Greg. I'm toying with the idea (and kind-of have the first chapter mapped out in my head) of writing a sequel to this story about Jules' recovery. Maybe called Nurturing Neurons or something. It'll be more jammy. I must say, writing this story, although pretty hard (as I've said several times before; thanks for putting up with my whining about how hard it was to put Jules through Hell, btw (!)), was one of the most fulfilling experiences I've had at this time of my intellectual life. And look, I even got to use my Master's in Psy. Yeah, I did, I talked about neurons misfiring and stuff and junk; that was TOTALLY worth seven years of college and grad school of my life (!). Oh, and the whole Steve shopping with Jules thing was stolen from an idea I wrote about in Nateve, JAM, and Nike Cases, my current joint project with Sules. We're such jammers, we managed to turn what started out as a Nat-Steve story into a Nateve-Jam story. I've recently managed to turn it into an awkward love triangle (or pentagon, with Sam and Jules' interference) between Spike, Nat, and Steve. It's turning into a total random and awkward humor-fest, and we PROMISE we're not on crack; get Sules and Eals in a cyber-room together and things quickly turn into a wise-ass convention. Mea Culpa, Mea Culpa, it's mostly my fault. Back to this story, I love how Greg used Jules' own words to talk her down. I love those two together!

So, **Please** leave a review and tell me what you think of this chapter, this story, **and if you think I** **should write a sequel**. Your input is priceless.

Thanks for reading!

Peace, love, and rock 'n roll,

Eals


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